


Hunger

by aistic



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aistic/pseuds/aistic
Summary: Darby Allin wrestles like sombody Mox used to know, if that somebody had been ten years younger and into death matches. It's all high-flying, flippy shit, liquid speed and crazy stunts, and Mox hadn't planned on tying the kid up, but he wanted to see what Allin would do with his wings clipped. He wasn't expecting a springboard moonsault, that's for sure.





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Darby Allin vs Jon Moxley at Brass City Brawl is the hottest thing I've seen in years. There's no plot here, just porn.

Darby Allin wrestles like sombody Mox used to know, if that somebody had been ten years younger and into death matches. It's all high-flying, flippy shit, liquid speed and crazy stunts, and Mox hadn't planned on tying the kid up, but he wanted to see what Allin would do with his wings clipped. He wasn't expecting a springboard moonsault, that's for sure.  
  
It's a good match. More than that, it's a fun match, and it's been a while since wrestling was fun. No spotlights, no pyro, no pretensions, no cameras showed in his face, just two guys pummeling each other. He's missed the simplicity of it, the sharp edges, the straight forward pain. His, his opponent's, who the fuck cares.  
  
Darby Allin has the word "Relentless" tattooed on the back of his neck, and Mox wants to lick that strip of skin, taste the salty tang of fresh sweat. He wants to slam him up against a wall to hear him gasp, see him arch and crawl like this where nothing's stopping him from doing exactly what he wants.  
  
He lingers after the match, talks to the fans, signs a few autographs, and by the time he makes it back to the locker room the other wrestlers have already cleared out.  
  
Everyone except for one, hunched over on the bench, still in his sweaty ring gear. He looks up when Mox enters, just a glance, but Mox wouldn't be Mox if he couldn't recognize hunger when he saw it.  
  
That, too, reminds him of someone. He's not sure it's a memory he wants to entertain right now, so he tosses it aside together with his jacket and rolls his neck. Allin watches him, face paint all smeared, eyes dark and wary, and when Mox crosses the floor Allin grows perfectly still.  
  
He pushes Allin's hood off, revealing sweaty blond hair. The kid still hasn't moved at all. Mox licks a wet strip on his palm and drags it across Allin's face, feeling a sharp, sweet thrill when the kid just sits there and _lets_ him. He looks feral and fragile all at once, and Mox can't wait to see if he'll bite or offer his throat.  
  
He holds out his hand. Allin watches. Mox is no stranger to wild, cagey things and so he waits, unmoving. Finally, Allin leans in and sucks Mox's thumb into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around it. He's being a tease, heat and suction and little moans mixed with wet, sloppy sounds, and it feels like heaven. Until he bites.  
  
Mox swears and pulls away. There are teeth marks at the base of his thumb. Allin… oh, he recognizes that look. He's seen it in the mirror often enough. He pulls back his hand and Allin raises his chin. _Bring it_. The kid is grabbing the bench on either side of him in a white-knuckled grip, but his eyes are bright with excitement.  
  
The slap makes Allin gasp. He licks his lips, rolls his neck, and when he raises his face there's a little smirk on his lips. He shifts, and Mox's eyes are drawn to his crotch where the line of his cock is clearly visible, pressing against the seam of his tight denim shorts.  
  
Just for that smirk, Mox gives him another two slaps, finishing with a backhand that sends him reeling, turning his face with the force of the blow. Allin isn't the only one getting hard, here. Mox palms himself through his trunks, groaning deep in his throat.  
  
There's a clock ticking somewhere out in the hallway. Steps move past, a door slams. Darby Allin watches, transfixed, as Mox keeps stroking himself. Someone yells a goodbye down the corridor. Allin's gaze darts between Mox's face and the languid movement of his hand. The harsh, ragged sound of their breathing echoes loudly in the locker room. When he can't stand it anymore, Mox eases down his trunks and takes out his cock. He licks his palm before he goes back to jacking himself off, watching Allin watch him through half-lidded eyes.  
  
Allin slips off the bench, down on his knees, and it's an intoxicating sight. But his thumb's still throbbing, and there's no way he's putting his cock anywhere near those teeth. He shoves him back with a foot against his chest. Allin looks disappointed for a split second, before he spreads his legs and starts rubbing himself through the denim. It's ridiculously hot, and Mox wishes he could take a snapshot, share this picture. There are voices right outside, and the choked, cut-off sounds Allin makes when he's trying to get off quickly and quietly is exactly what Mox needs to push him over the edge. He grunts as he comes all over Allin's chest, a few drops of cum hitting his face. It looks fucking amazing. Allin's hips are working as he grinds against his own hand, unwilling to stop long enough to get his clothes off. Or maybe he just likes the rough burn of fabric against his cock, or the idea of coming in his gear.  
  
Mox takes a moment to catch his breath and enjoy the view as he tucks himself in, before he grabs Allin by the hair and forces him to knee-walk across the room. He shoves him down, straddling him. Allin growls and tries to buck him off, but Mox pins his wrists against the floor and rides out the struggle. The kid looks amazing, all roughed up and full of fight, and it's a fucking shame that Mox has already come, because he thinks that Allin would probably like a full load in his face and even if he wouldn't, Mox would get one hell of a kick out of making him. Or he could come on the floor, and make Allin clean it up with his tongue.  
  
He traps the kid's wrists in a one-handed grip, scooping up cum from Allin's chest and smearing it across his face. Allin growls and snaps after his fingers, like a trapped dog. Mox cuffs him, then lets his hand travel downwards. The growls turn into gasps and whimpers as Mox pinches and twists his nipples, one after the other. His nipples would be perfect for rings to twist and tug at, thread a chain through, hang weights off. Another time. Damn, there's so much he could do with a kid who likes pain almost as much as he does.  
  
He adjusts his position, settling a leg between Allin's. The boy pushes his hips from the floor to grind against him, and Mox moves away. They have to repeat the same dance three times over before the lesson sticks. Allin's stubborn, but he's not stupid. He stops squirming and stares up at Mox with an intoxicating mixture of helplessness, desire and rage.  
  
Mox presses his thigh against Allin's cock again, and the boy makes a sound Mox will jerk off to in the shower for days.  
  
"Say it," Mox growls in his ear.  
  
Darby Allin whimpers underneath him and presses his mouth into a stubborn line.  
  
Mox spits in his face and rubs it in.   
  
"Say. It."  
  
The clock in the hallway keeps ticking. There's a wet spot on the front of Allin's shorts, and he can feel the kid's body tremble with the effort to stay put.  
  
"Please," Allin finally forces out, and damn, if it isn't the best thing he's heard all day.  
  
He grinds his thigh against Allin's cock until the boy comes, shuddering underneath him. Mox kisses him on an impulse, and Allin returns the kiss eagerly. It's enough to make Mox want to strip him naked, tie his hands to the lockers and fuck him with his fingers until he cries, but he's got places to be and even if he hadn't, he's too damn exhausted. Next time.  
  
Allin's still in the shower when he's dressed and ready to go. He scrawls his number on the back of an old receipt, and leaves it on top of Allin's gear, whistling to himself as he leaves the building.


End file.
